


Oh, my

by Ulqueleh (Ulquii)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Clothed Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Grinding, Hm kinky, Kink Discovery, Knifeplay, Lotor Week 2020, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulquii/pseuds/Ulqueleh
Summary: There’s something eerie about the lord’s eyes, a dark blue similar to Keith’s, but it looks much the more elegant and fine in him. Keith finds himself staring, the white hair held in a loose ponytail framing his sharp features beautifully. He hates himself from thinking it, though, clearing his throat when the man curves his mouth in a knowing smirk.-Or the one where Keith realizes he has a kink, too.
Relationships: Keith/Lotor (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62
Collections: Lotor Week 2020





	Oh, my

The sound music down the hall was annoying. Keith hated this kind of parties; stupid, pretentious ways of show off the money you own, the richness you stole. He has never been in one, of course. But now, pretending to be one of the guests in clothes that are too tight in his arms and too itchy on his neck, he figures he hates them already. One thing was thinking about pompous ladies and lords, of fake laughter and complicity, and other thing was being there to witness.

Good thing he wasn’t there to stay, though. It just seemed proper to complain in his mind, where no one would- _should_ hear him. He slipped out of the shadow he had hidden in; just a second later a couple of guards walked pass him. As always, they did not take notice.

Keith walks the opposite way, further away from where the party is being held and from where he fled when he had the opportunity to do so. He quickly blends in the dark corners and blind spots like a second nature. He isn’t seen despite his dark red jacket and hair styled free, different from the signature braid he uses for work.

His lean, easy-to-hide frame and have-to-squint kind of presence are why he’s here in the first place. Most of his team, of his found family, is larger, clumsier or louder than him. He’s the most experienced in stealth, too, due to his biological family and their years in the business.

 _This_ isn’t exactly business. More like an urge for justice. And that’s why he’s the only one there, his friends doing their own part of the job.

He presses his back against a wall, waiting for some stray party guests walk pass him, chattering lively and making him cringe at the loud laughter. He truly hates it.

Stepping out of the shadow and staring at the group walk away, he takes a few steps back and then turns to the door he was meant to find. The wood is expensive, he can tell with just a glance to the fine carving. The ornamental flowers and vines on it make Keith think briefly of the woods near his childhood home, reminding him of his father’s smile, as warm as the sun going through the leaves.

He swallows up a sigh, avoiding being heard, and gets to his knees, pulling out his tools and starting to pick the lock. It’s easy to open, eerily so, but he doesn’t waste time thinking about it, stepping into the dark room and closing the door behind him with a silent click. He looks around, assessing; there are a couple of couches in the middle of the room over a big carpet, the walls are mostly lined with bookshelves and paintings, an open door to an archive closet just beside them in the far corner. Between two windows with purple curtains there’s a desk and Keith stares at it for a second before going into action.

He crosses the room quickly, careful to not touch the furniture, and starts rummaging through the papers over the desk surface. He searches for a second too long, though, and the moment he catches the one he needs, with that name written below a signature, the lights turn on.

He fists the document, pushing it up his sleeve, and turns to the now open door, a young lord with certainly too white of hair tilting his head at Keith.

“Well, hello,” he says in a rich accent Keith can’t quite place, and he feels dread of getting caught run through him, “Thought this part of the mansion was closed for guests.”

Keith mouths, thinking for an excuse, and the lord starts closing the distance, looking him up and down.

“I got lost,” he ends up muttering, hoping his caught-in-the-act blush is passed by embarrassment, “This place is huge.”

The lord arches an eyebrow, standing quite close for Keith’s liking, but pulling away would make him look just more suspicious.

“Lost,” the lord repeats, tilting his head to try and look Keith in the eye.

“Yes,” he answers, not knowing how but now he’s leaning to the desk, trying to make some distance between them.

There’s something eerie about the lord’s eyes, a dark blue similar to Keith’s, but it looks much the more elegant and fine in him. Keith finds himself staring, the white hair held in a loose ponytail framing his sharp features beautifully. He hates himself from thinking it, though, clearing his throat when the man curves his mouth in a knowing smirk.

“Anyways,” Keith says too high, stepping to the side to round the man still looming over him, “I should probably go.”

He thinks he’s made it when the man just stares at him for a second, the document carelessly folded onto his arm inside his sleeve burning him.

Suddenly there’s a hand around his other wrist, and he turns bewildered to the smirking man, stepping close once again while Keith tries subtly to pull himself free.

“Wait,” the lord chuckles, keeping Keith’s hand just beside his own hip, “I believe you should not be taking that.”

Keith gasps when his other hand grazes the folded paper through his clothe, and he’s quick to retract his arm from reach. But before he can get out of his grasp with a yank and get away from the room the fastest he can run, the lord takes both his forearms, keeping him still.

“Oh,” he toots when Keith fights back, playful grin shining with the golden light, “Oh, my. So _fierce_.”

The room spins in its axis, and Keith turns to avoid being the one hitting the floor. He lands on his knees, either side of the man’s hips, and quickly pulls out his blade from the fold of his belt, pressing the cutting edge to the lord’s neck.

He goes still immediately, eyes wide in what Keith hates to tell is wonder, but he doesn’t try anything stupid.

“Don’t move,” Keith warns, narrowing his eyes at him when he sees his throat tremble with a contained laugh.

“Oh,” he breathes, more amused than he should be with a knife to his neck, “Oh, _my_. You are more gorgeous than I first believed.”

Keith frowns, wondering if the lord followed him from the party, but dismisses the thought with a shake, pushing closer the blade to his jaw and making him arch his neck.

“Don’t talk,” Keith orders, quietly, “or I’ll slit your throat.”

A shiver goes through the man’s body, hands clasping the carpet below them, and Keith arches a brow, catching how the lord seems out of breath.

“Sure,” he exhales, face blushing from something Keith thinks was not from the struggle they had a bit ago, “Whatever that pleases you.”

Keith’s nose wrinkles, disgusted by this creep —he isn’t one to judge what turns on a man, but in this situation is totally uncalled for. He’s really considering on what to do with him that isn’t just kill him off when he hears steps down the hall followed by giggles, closing in to them and the very open door of the room.

“Shit,” he curses, the lord looking to the open door, too. He already got caught by a freak; he can’t risk more people finding him out.

Keith knows he can’t very much hide anywhere, but he’s going to have to hide this man, too, and thinking quick for a bigger place for two, he looks over his shoulder to the tiny archive. He pulls the man by his bowtie, hissing a warning to keep quiet and making him stand up and trip behind him. He shoves him in and follows, quick enough that the front door is opened with a slam at the same time he closes the folding screen of the archive closet.

He winces when he realizes is a tighter fit than he thought, his hand awkwardly twisted to keep the knife against the man without slicing his throat by mistake, and has to actually shush the man when he feels his chuckle rumble through the tight press of their chests.

“Shut the fuck up, you creep,” he warns quietly, the giggles and stumbling steps entering the room and making him snap closed his own mouth.

The lord breathes out —as quietly as he can with a knife against his throat, Keith will give him that—, and keeps still, much to Keith’s relief. He assesses him for a second in the dark, and then turns to the folding screen, keeping them hidden. He couldn’t close it completely in his haste to hide —it’s still ajar and some of the light from the room pours in on his face, but he’s sure the dark will keep him hidden. For now he has a good look on what’s happening on the other side, vigilant on the opportunity to get out and away from danger.

He lets out a breath when he sees it’s just a couple fooling around in the couches after too many drinks. They’re too busy kissing each other than they don’t spare a glance at the archive, which is a win for Keith.

Still, concern starts to bloom on his chest when he sees them get up from the couch and stumble their way closer to them, to the desk full of papers. He looks away the moment he sees it’s getting heated, feeling his own cheeks burn and his cock twitch in interest, and his swallow clicks when the giggling turns into heavy panting. He tries to shift away from the lord, feeling uncomfortably aroused, and wonders why he’s been so pliant, knife to his throat aside.

Keith tenses, though, when he feels the man’s hands settle on his waist carefully, and then he’s suddenly aware of how their legs are tangled, the front of their hips flush together. He tries to shift away, again, but he’s pressed against the shelf digging to his back.

“W-what are you…” he tries to complain quietly, but cuts off with a gasp when the man grinds against him, hard-on lined up just beside his starting-to-wake erection.

“Oh,” he hears, “You _are_ aroused.”

It’s low enough for Keith to be the only one to hear him, the couple just outside the door, more distracted with each other to actually listen, but the words heat inside him in shame. He attempts to glare at him and warn him once again, readjusting his hold on the blade, but falters when he sees his darkened eyes watching him closely, another slow grind causing him a shiver.

“I thought it was a trick of the light,” the lord murmurs, one of his hands slowly creeping down his lower back, playing with the edge of his shirt, “Your face with such a pretty blush.”

Keith gasps, fingers tracing his skin underneath his clothes, and he tightens his hold on the knife, pushing it purposely against the man’s jaw, making him freeze.

“Stop,” he hisses, grabbing one of his hands and pulling out and away from his shirt, “You fucking _creep_.”

But, of course, the lord is unfazed, his smirk going sharper.

“Am I?” he asks, his other hand squeezing his hip over his belt, “Or are we both, perhaps?”

Annoyance hits Keith and he’s about to snap when the man shushes him, looking to the folded door briefly, the sounds behind it getting louder and filthier.

“You would not want them finding out we are looking, would you?” he asks and a thrill of anticipation goes sharply hard through Keith, “They’re just so _busy_ right now, just have a look, won’t you, dear?”

Keith’s mouth gapes, head turning to the sliver he can see through the door; they’re on the desk, one of them seated over some papers and the other is between her legs, face buried under her skirt whilst her own hand has pulled up her own and has her fingers deep into herself.

The moans are loud, the squelches are even louder to borderline disgusting, but Keith can’t look away from them.

‘This is wrong’, he thinks, ‘This is so _wrong_.’

But he’s frozen in place, staring instead of looking away, seeing the girl on the desk moaning to the ceiling while the other is humming against her clit and eating her out like she’s the most delicious meal she has had in ages.

‘Maybe it is,’ his mind unhelpfully supplies, Keith letting out a shaky breath, ‘Maybe she’s enjoying herself as much as you are looking at them.’

His hips buckle up against his will, his dick hard and pleading him for attention, and he’s not aware he had pulled away the knife from the lord’s neck until it’s too late, perching it against the books next to his head.

“Yeah,” he man breathes leaning over Keith, pushing against him and making him pant when their cocks line up through their clothes, “They must be feeling so _good_ , right? Look at them, sweetie. They are such a show only for you.”

Keith resists the urge to whimper, eyes glued on the way the girl on the desk trembles through her first orgasm, the other quickly cleaning her up with her tongue and standing up to kiss her, both of them moaning. The dirty squelches get wetter and harder, and Keith gasps when he realizes they’re grinding against each other, their skirts hitched up to their waists.

“ _Oh_ ,” the lord sighs when Keith’s frottage becomes a full-up thrust against him, starting to move with him, “Oh, _yeah_ , sweetheart.”

Keith can’t help the moan that gets caught on the back of his mouth, looking up bewildered to the man looming over him. He finds shamelessly that he isn’t embarrassed by the situation more than he is that he’s aroused by watching a couple have sex just on the other side of the folding door —he can’t believe he’s doing this, especially with the same creep that seemingly followed him deeper into the mansion and its empty rooms, but he’s not ashamed, as if pointing out this man’s fetish to knives would put them in the same level of creepiness, somehow.

Keith gasps, gripping his knife-free palm to the man’s shoulder, looking for purchase to keep moving, and the whines on the other side of the door go louder and higher. The lord’s breathing hits the side of his neck, lips finding his pulse, and Keith trembles, roughly thrusting up his hips to find release, his dick protesting against the clothe of his trousers instead of human skin.

“Oh,” he moans belatedly, looking down to their clothed erections rubbing together, “ _Oh, god_.”

The lord hums his agreement, mouth hot on the corner of his jaw —and the moment teeth grazes below his ear Keith sees stars.

He trembles violently through his orgasm, slapping his hand to his mouth when he knows his moan is going to be louder than he can control, and breathes shallowly while his dick spurts uselessly through his underwear. He can hear the lord is still panting against him, though, but the orgasm clears his head enough and Keith’s quick to press his body against the lord’s, pushing him against the other side of the archives and letting his hips grind in the air, away from his own.

“ _Ah_ ,” the man gasps, trembling from an unreached orgasm, but doesn’t try to move closer when Keith presses his forearm to his chest, keeping him against the shelf behind him, “Back to your old, fiery self, aren’t you?”

Keith glares openly and unabashed, and then looks outside for a second, finding the girls panting against the other, apparently both enjoying the aftershocks of a joined orgasm. Keith is relieved that none of them heard him, but he’s not sure the lord is going to restrain himself.

“Keep quiet,” he warns looking back at him, the smile on the lord’s mouth annoying him once again. He can’t help himself from putting the edge of the knife again on his throat, letting it graze his skin before pulling away, “Or I won’t let you come.”

The man’s mouth opens in a soundless moan, eyes closing in a flutter before he nods, Keith having to retire the knife to keep from hurting him. He waits for another of his gracious remarks, though, but when he’s sure the lord is keeping quiet, dark eyes still gazing him, he looks away to the gap on the door, watching the couple of girls get up on buckling knees between giggles and sighs, fixing each other’s clothes before heading to the door. One of them seems concerned about the soaked papers on the desk —Keith would be concerned, too— but the other just giggles and pulls her out, turning off the lights and closing the door.

The lock clicks softly and Keith lets out a heavy breath, feeling the man squirm on his hold, hips still trembling and hard-on visible in the shadows. He glances up at him, finding him panting yet smiling, and Keith is so freaking annoyed by him.

“Shut up,” he orders, keeping his knife tight against his throat while sliding down his other hand, “And keep still.”

The lord moans when Keith pointedly squeezes him through his pants and his eyes roll up when the blunt part of the blade presses against the side of his neck, dick grinding against Keith’s palm.

“A-ah, that is…”

He lets out another moan, shaking from keeping still aside from the short thrust of his hips, and Keith licks his lips, noting how the lord’s dark gaze goes down to them, just to go back to Keith’s eyes with a wordless question.

“ _No_ ,” Keith denies sternly, moving his hand over his crotch harder and faster, the blue eyes going to the ceiling, “Just come.”

As if hanging to every word from him, the man’s breath hitches in a moan, his moves becoming aborted and hurried, finally breaking into a tremble. Wetness soaks Keith’s palm, and disgustedly, he finds he wants to lick it.

“Oh,” the lord gasps, eyes dazed above Keith’s head, “ _Oh_ , _wow_.”

Keith scoffs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes fondly. He’s a freak, Keith, what the hell are you getting fond of?

“There,” he announces, letting him go and hearing him hiss, “Don’t you dare talk about this, you heard me?”

His gaze falls onto Keith, and a lazy smile curves up the side of his mouth.

“Well,” he exhales, taking a steadying breath and slumping against the archives on his back, “I might if you so kindly comply my wishes.”

Keith arches an eyebrow.

“Already did, my lord,” he taunts, bringing his stained hand against his face and smearing some on his cheek, just next to his panting mouth.

He doesn’t like the way the man’s eyes light up at the use of the title —more like he doesn’t like the way it stirs something within him, arousal settling on his lower back.

“I would not retort it,” the lord complies, but, even with Keith’s knife keeping him in place, Keith feels like he’s the one in danger, “Just musing that perhaps I would need more later.”

Keith narrows his eyes and pointedly shifts his blade’s position, the sharp point pressing to the soft skin below his jaw. The man gasps softly, eyes wide and not moving, and Keith smirks, closing the distance and stopping just a hair of distance from kissing his lips

“Good luck finding me, then.”

A spark goes off on the lord’s eyes and Keith is quick to pull away, storming out of the archive closet before the man can even think of following him. Instead of the door, though, he goes for the window, and opens it swiftly before jumping to the yard below the balcony, getting lost in the bushes.

He stops in his run through the woods, now far away enough to not be seen by guards or the lord searching for him from the balcony, and he smirks at himself, resuming his walk and pulling out the paper from his sleeve. His eyes stop in the name at the top: ‘Lotor Garan,’ and briefly recalls the lord’s face in the dark, cheeks stained in red and mouth open slack.

He doesn’t know how much he’s going to regret saying that last words against his mouth, when the lord actually finds him and his whole team two weeks later.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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>   * “<3” as extra kudos
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